


All In The Golden Afternoon

by MJ (mjr91)



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Fringe, Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Blacklist (TV)
Genre: Blackslash, Crack Treated Seriously, F/M, Is There Such A Thing as AU in Fringe?, M/M, Nina Sharp Rules, Phil Coulson is Everyone's Friend, Post-Series, Tony Stark Does What He Wants, and they all lived happily ever after
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-04
Updated: 2013-11-04
Packaged: 2017-12-31 12:42:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1031817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mjr91/pseuds/MJ
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If The Blacklist, Fringe, and Agents of SHIELD were all in the same universe, there might be a post-series happy ending for several people.  And for Stark Industries and Massive Dynamic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All In The Golden Afternoon

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kerithwyn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kerithwyn/gifts).



> Inspired by Kerithwyn's comment to another of my fics that Raymond Reddington and Nina Sharp could be a fiendish combination. Not only is Raymond Reddington a little black dress, but so is his show. And Phil Coulson = love. The technology in Nina Sharp's body is canon -- arc reactor meets Kevlar body implants here. Title inspired by Lewis Carroll's prologue poem to Alice In Wonderland, which is surely the place where this story takes place, and on just the sort of day described in Carroll's poem.

The red Mustang came through the open gate of the estate drive at what wasn't top speed, but was speed enough. It pulled to a stop in front of the red brick Colonial manse, in the circular driveway. The driver killed the ignition, tossed the keys to his passenger. "Thanks for letting me drive this time."

The car's owner pocketed the keys in his khakis. It seemed strange to visit his hosts when he wasn't in a suit and tie; khakis and a dark blue alligator shirt were appropriate for the day and event – it was a Sunday brunch, after all – but even though all were friendly, they usually only saw each other on business. "You're welcome. I think."

"Can I fly her next time?"

"Don't touch anything on Lola I don't authorize first, and no. Absolutely not." Phil Coulson threw himself over the passenger door without opening it, just to prove he still could. It was purely vain, he knew, but it was worth the ache.

He and his driver walked over to a large table covered with a bright floral cloth, where a pitcher of screwdrivers and a pitcher of Bloodies sat with glasses and a bucket of ice. A tall, slender woman was ensconced in a lounge chair with a Bloody Mary, while an older, cropped-haired man stood beside her, leaning against her chair, nursing a screwdriver. "Welcome, gentlemen," their host called over. "Or should I say, 'agents'?"

"We're all off duty," Coulson laughed. "Good to see you. And you, Pepper. Where's Tony?"

"He's in the house with Nina," the woman in the lounger advised. "They're talking business. Something to do with organic LMDs, I think. I don't pretend to understand it."

The man leaning against her chair chuckled. "We're business widows, as it were. Pour yourselves drinks. Sit down. I have most of the food out, but we're waiting for Tony and Nina to finish their business conquest of the modern world. It makes me glad I'm mostly retired."

"Red," Coulson laughed as he poured drinks for himself and his companion, "you'll never retire. Not as long as Massive Dynamic keeps making products that they're not legally allowed to sell that you have to liquidate behind the government's back for your wife."

Raymond Reddington shrugged. "I don't suppose you want to hear any more about their tesseract-power research, then."

"Don't say that. I'm off duty. You want to make me open an investigation on a Sunday?"

"Sorry." Reddington didn't look one bit sorry. Coulson was reasonably sure that Reddington wasn't joking, either – Massive Dynamic was a cesspool of illegal and unethical scientific research, right up Reddington's alley, but turning them upside down wasn't likely to do any good, and possibly a great deal of harm given their legitimate medical and engineering research, including for SHIELD; Fury had decreed the corporation hands-off until they actually did something unfortunate that crossed SHIELD's radar, rather than going by commentary. The FBI had labeled the corporation untouchable. And his host knew it. "Sit, gentlemen, sit," Reddington urged.

Coulson and his companion chose comfortable-looking chairs across from Pepper Potts. It was a beautiful day, and it was a pleasure to see Don so relaxed.

* * *

FBI Assistant Director Harold Cooper stared. He stared some more. It wasn't because he was confused, or had misunderstood anything – he hadn't misunderstood one word. He was staring because his own plans for an investigation had just been shot to hell. The agents around him were also staring – now, they almost certainly were confused. The discussion was covering things that were far, far above their pay grades – certainly Keen's. Ressler shouldn't be aware of them, either, but his various assignments might have allowed him to overhear a few things in the past that were related to the topic.

"Let me get this straight, Reddington. The Sudanese rebels are in the market for tesseract-fueled weapons?"

"Exactly, Harold. I have contacts everywhere, so it's not ridiculous to suppose that I know someone who might have access to the power source."

"But SHIELD got that away from HYDRA ages ago," Cooper protested. The other agents looked slightly dazed now.

"HYDRA?" Reddington smirked. Then came the infamous slight chuckle. "Harold, Harold, do you really think that HYDRA is the only source for that? Their science has gone any number of places around the world. There are major corporations that have research and development working on it."

"It's not legal," the agent complained.

"Legal? Oh, Harold, you poor benighted thing. Of course it's not legal. I can name two Fortune 100 companies whose owners have their hands directly on it – and you'll never be able to prove it. In the one case, you won't want to. Surely you realize that Stark Industries has more knowledge of tesseract-powered devices than anyone else around. Tony Stark's own father did research in the area. And then – you'll never prove it in a millennium – there's my very good friend Nina Sharp over at Massive Dynamic. Bell and Bishop both covered the subject – in fact, there was a contract between Massive Dynamic and Stark Industries many years ago… " Reddington trailed off, just to see Cooper's face.

"You're talking crap, Reddington." Cooper didn't believe Reddington was lying about that, actually. It made sense. Stark was Stark, after all, and there had always been rumors about Massive Dynamic, but New York and Boston kept assuring Washington that Massive Dynamic was in the clear on all of them. Nina Sharp was merely keeping the legacy of William Bell's incredible scientific research alive for the benefit of mankind, if its press was to be believed. Cooper didn't buy it, but he knew that Reddington was right; the Bureau would never prove otherwise.

"You think so, Harold? Make a call. You know the number, I'm sure. Nick Fury would no doubt love to have a chat with you. Now, I can lead you to the gentleman who's doing the assembly – my friends call him The Engineer – but he's a bit outside your jurisdiction, I'm afraid."

Agent Donald Ressler curled his hands into loose fists at his sides, exasperated. Raymond Reddington drove him insane. "What the hell are you talking about, Reddington? Illegal weapons are our jurisdiction."

"Not tesseract technology," Cooper conceded. "That falls under SHIELD. I know you don't know what we're talking about – it's highly classified, more so than the details around the Battle of New York. But that involved tesseract-power issues, too. I can't brief you on it, but Reddington's right – we have to call in SHIELD. I'll get authorization to contact Director Fury. Ressler, you'll be the liaison agent with SHIELD."

Ressler didn't think that thanking Cooper would be at all appropriate.

* * *

There had – obviously – been a timer set for something in the kitchen, as a beeper went off on the table. Reddington excused himself while Coulson and Pepper traded a few current Tony Stark anecdotes, returning with a tray with bagels, lox, cream cheese, butter, capers, and caviar, which went down beside the pitchers of drinks and a cut glass bowl of freshly cut watermelon and berries, and excusing himself again over a casserole that was waiting to come out.

Don shook his head, musing quietly. When he'd worked at the FBI, he'd never have pictured Raymond Reddington in a button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up and a pair of jeans, hand-sewn moccasins on his feet, dominating the antique-styled but gleamingly, professionally equipped kitchen of a house large enough to serve as the governor's mansion if it were relocated from the hunt country to Richmond. But it had become clear somewhere along the line, somewhere after the blanket immunity deal, somewhere after SHIELD had become involved and Reddington's personal association with Tony Stark was altogether obvious to the Bureau – you might hate Stark's guts, might think he was a vigilante in a metal suit, and you had to hate his attitude towards everything and everyone, but America loved the bastard – that the Concierge of Crime, as they'd called him, was untouchable now. He could afford to dress down occasionally and perfect his wild mushroom and gruyere ravioli.

Oh, Reddington had definitely slowed down; he wasn't being reported to be colluding with Afghan rebels against American bases, or with former Soviets with nothing better to do than to stir the pot with Communist doctrine in Asian outposts. He'd slid almost entirely into brokering sales of defective or semi-legal – in Massive Dynamic's case, probably completely illegal – production overruns to parties that the United States thought Americans should avoid making their business partners, through backdoor routes that never led back to the companies in question… and somehow, never to him, either. When Nina Sharp, America's favorite businesswoman (next to Pepper Potts, of course) announced that she was finally marrying a very old friend of hers, Donald Ressler had wondered if it was for love, for money, or to keep secrets buried. Watching Reddington and Sharp together, as he had for some time now, he'd been forced to conclude that the answer was "all of the above."

Sharp and Reddington clearly doted on each other – it surprised him, really, as at one point he'd been ready to swear that Reddington had his eye on Agent Elizabeth Keen. It turned out that he had, but not in a way that Don had ever expected. The couple had a mutual affection that in a badly written mystery would have been a sure sign that each was trying to kill the other, but between them certainly appeared genuine. They finished each other's sentences, laughed as soon as they realized what joke the other one was about to tell. Reddington fussed over Sharp's prosthetic, insisted on carrying things for her that William Bell's engineering easily could handle. Sharp was always straightening Reddington's impeccably folded collars, adjusting his perfectly knotted, perfectly aligned, neckties – and Reddington didn't bat an eyelash. To see Raymond Reddington, a haberdasher's best friend, allow anyone to tamper with his dress was almost shocking – he'd never have thought Reddington would let anyone but a bodyguard get away with that. But the man trusted Sharp with – well, if he trusted the woman with his ties, he'd trust her with anything.

And Tony Stark was fascinated by Sharp. He'd had scans done of her prosthetic arm, the one the public knew nothing about. He'd sent diagrams of sorts, along with notes on Sharp's Kevlar implants – the woman had a partly bulletproof interior – to Nick Fury, commenting again on whatever the LMD business was. Phil had once said, quietly, to Don that he thought that Massive Dynamic's private research technology might have been what had saved him on the operating table after the incident with Loki, the one where he'd died briefly, though Fury wouldn't confirm it and neither would the couple who had invited them to spend the day at their weekend home. Reddington had said, too, once, that his now-wife's corporation's research division was why he was alive after he'd been dead for over two minutes during a mission in Marrakesh. Apparently he really did trust her with his life. Don didn't pretend to understand any of it. All he knew was that he barely understood the technology he worked with daily; understanding this part was far beyond him.

Out from the kitchen came another tray. A pasta casserole, and a quiche. Who that didn't know the man would have thought that Reddington's favorite hobby was cooking? But there wasn't even a cook at the weekend home – the idea that an estate this size was a weekend getaway seemed preposterous, but that was what money did – under normal circumstances; if Reddington was there, the kitchen was his.

Reddington put the new array of foods on the table and looked over at Pepper Potts. "Everything's ready. Who wants to risk their life breaking up Tony and Nina's meeting?"

No one volunteered, but all other eyes wandered to Phil Coulson. Don was fairly sure that it was because of the four of them, he came the closest to knowing no fear. Reddington, Potts, and Ressler might be brave, might be tough, but Phil Coulson was the one who was insanely calm walking into alien firefights. If Loki didn't scare him, interrupting Stark and Sharp at work and living to tell the tale might indeed be within his grasp. 

"I'll get them," Phil agreed.

* * *

Ressler and Keen stared at each other. The old saying was that there were "lies, damn lies, and statistics," but here there was "truth, the absolute truth, and actual reality". Sure, the FBI had told its agents the truth. Of course, Reddington's version of events was more honest, superficially anyway. And then there was what Coulson and the other SHIELD agents had shown them, not told them. What they'd heard was one version or other of something called "truth", but what they'd seen had been real.

What they'd aided had been real.

What had been shooting at them? Oh, most definitely real. Unfortunately real.

Coulson taking out the super-powered dude in the funky Japanese Samurai armor with a higher-than-high-tech dart gun of some sort and saving Ressler's ass had been about as real as Donald Ressler could imagine. When Coulson had invited him onto the "bus" – what a name for a flying arsenal-cum-laboratory-cum-college-dormitory – for a drink, he hadn't been able to say no.

He hadn't been able to say no to the drink. Or to the tour of the "bus". Or to the second drink, or to Phil Coulson's incredible charm in private. That charm had somehow or other conned Tony Stark into compliant behavior, so it was a superpower of its very own, and as well as it worked on Tony Stark, Donald Ressler hadn't had a chance.

There was more than one way to recruit an agent to SHIELD. And Phil Coulson's way of recruiting him had worked wonders, but he'd kill Phil if he ever tried it on anyone else. And Grant Ward was just too damned good-looking, but Phil claimed he hadn't noticed. That had better have been true.

Because that tour of Phil Coulson's room on the bus had been pretty damn incredible, and Phil's tour of Donald Ressler had displayed a second superpower that Phil possessed in spades.

He could still remember Cooper's dismayed stare at him when he'd burst into the office, growled "Damn you, Cooper, Reddington was a hell of a lot more right than you were, all along," and slammed his badge and gun on the desk.

Phil had stood outside the door to Cooper's office, waiting. And he'd handed over Donald Ressler's new badge on the spot. Just before he'd kissed him in front of an entire outer office full of Bureau staff. It didn't matter – if any of them saw him again, he'd outrank them in jurisdiction and in LE status by a mile. And it would be worth it. For what he'd been put through for years, and for Phil Coulson. And, just incidentally, for the really cool toys.

* * *

They sat at the table, chatting about the most ridiculous things – Reddington's new dog, Don's new haircut, Pepper's attempts at a garden. Tony Stark, always the odd man out, was there in a shredded Avengers T-shirt (all the cool kids were buying them at Hollister these days, apparently) and shorts, looking vaguely as if JARVIS had just scraped him off the floor after another Mark MCMLXVI suit testing mishap, while his new business partner from Massive Dynamic wore a white pantsuit with a cool lime green blouse under it, and his personal partner wore a flowered sundress. 

"Someone's missing," Nina Sharp observed as she looked around the table.

"You didn’t invite Ward," Don chuckled.

"Of course not," Reddington replied evenly. "He breaks the furniture wherever he goes."

"Not Ward," Phil said, elbowing his partner. "But Nina's right."

"Don't worry," Reddington replied. He glanced at his watch. It was quiet, understated, highly functional, precise, and extremely expensive, exactly like its wearer. "Five minutes at the most." A small blue Miata convertible came speeding up the drive even as he spoke, the occupant waving a hand. "There was a small assignment to take care of. I had a package that had to leave from Dulles this morning."

* * *

Truth was negotiable. Reality was cold and stark.

Reality had been a scumbag in a jetpack flying towards Elizabeth Keen at ninety miles an hour shooting a laser rifle of some sort so erratically that there was an actual chance she'd be hit. 

Reality had been Raymond Reddington tackling her to the floor of the warehouse, body-blocking her from the creep and taking a burn to the arm – he evinced more concern about the destruction of a good handmade Pink's shirt than he did about his injury – on her behalf, while Phil Coulson and Donald Ressler took down the flying sniper.

Reality had been peeling the headgear off of Roger Ramjet there and finding…

It didn't bear contemplation. Nor did the rest of the story. But the slime who'd bugged her home had been right. Tom Keen hadn't been working for Raymond Reddington. She'd found that out herself.

It was time to make a clean, though painful, break.

Not the divorce. That was the easy part. That had come about after Elizabeth Keen's new best friends had all had a turn at him. Ressler, whom she'd never thought would be a friend, but they'd now seen too much together. Coulson, who could threaten you within an inch of your life with a well-timed smile. And Reddington, whom she should have trusted more, earlier, and who had his own superpower, a facility to wound to kill without leaving marks – either physically or mentally.

When Donald Ressler had thrown his badge and gun at Harold Cooper, he hadn't been alone. Elizabeth Keen had been there with him. Hers had followed.

"We've been lied to long enough. We've been lied to, we've been used, we've nearly been killed. And for whose agenda? Not ours, not even Reddington's, and you knew it, Cooper – you knew it. All along, all of this. We're gone."

Donald Ressler had walked out of the office and into SHIELD, as well as into Phil Coulson's arms. Elizabeth Keen hadn't had a romance to walk into, nor would she have desired one, but she'd had a shoulder waiting for her outside Cooper's door. A shoulder to lean on, an ear to vent to, not for the first time, and an offer.

* * *

The Miata's driver exited the car, black-suited despite the warm, sunny, beautiful weather – some people were destined to be Men In Black – and pulled off the dark-tinted driving glasses, tossing them on the passenger seat, approaching the crowded brunch table. A loaded holster bulged under the arm of the suit jacket. "It's on its way. Luli's with it."

Reddington nodded as Nina Sharp's bodyguard, and his personal friend, sat down between Nina and Phil Coulson. "Thank you. I appreciate your making the delivery. Try the lox. I had it flown in from Nova Scotia – you know that, but I forgot to tell Pepper and Tony."

The tray was passed around the table. "Thanks. Hi, everyone. Phil, Pepper, Tony. It's good to see you, Don."

Don Ressler smiled. It had been a while, but it really was always good to see some people. It hadn't always been so, but reality changed perceptions amazingly. "Nice to see you too."

Nina turned to pass her closest assistant the pitcher of screwdrivers. "Can you make a run to Boston for me tomorrow?" she asked her guard. "Tony and I have come up with something I need to run past Walter Bishop over at his lab at Harvard. We need to get him the notes. I'm afraid Tony drew them on one of the library window shades. I'm sure Raymond will be kind enough to let us borrow the jet." Caught with a bite of lox and capers in his mouth, her husband merely nodded assent.

"I'm sure Doctor Bishop will appreciate it. It will screen off the cow."

"Ah, there is that." Nina Sharp smiled, eyes twinkling. She liked Walter, even if he was the world's biggest truly mad scientist. "Thanks, Lizzie."

Elizabeth Keen smiled back. "Not a problem."


End file.
